


Toppers' House

by until_the_earth_is_free



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: (although we don't find this out until the second chapter lol), Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Depression, Developing Friendships, Erik has Issues, F/F, First Meetings, Gallows Humor, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Suicide, Trans Character, Trans Charles Xavier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8894626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: Whatever Erik had been expecting when he’d engaged in conversation with a group of suicidals, he certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone to cry.  This had probably been an oversight on Erik’s part. [aka. the alternate universe wherein charles, erik, anna marie and warren meet at a popular suicide hotspot and decide to stay alive long enough to help each other with their problems]





	1. Part One: The Rooftop

**Author's Note:**

> major trigger warning for suicide!!  
> the entire premise of this fic revolves around the suicidal ideations of the four main characters and they discuss both their feelings and their plans in a lot of detail. although i wrote this as a dark comedy and it is intended to be funny in a lot of places, please be careful!
> 
> other trigger warnings: although none of the four main characters will die in this fic, there are mentions of background characters who have died before the fic starts. there are also a lot of swearing, alcohol, tobacco, mentions of bullying, and general mental illness themes. stay safe!!
> 
> also, the premise of this fic is based off the book "a long way down" by nick hornby, which i would highly recommend.

 

 

 

 

Toppers' House hadn't always been called Toppers' House.  In fact, it used to be called Hoppers' House, after the painter who had apparently once visited the café that this downtown Chicago apartment building used to be.  However, in recent years, the tall, security-lacking building had become a popular site of local suicides and the inhabitants and neighbours had renamed it in an attempt to find humour in the fact that, in the past decade, nineteen people had met their deaths just a couple of yards from their front doors.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost eleven o'clock at night on New Year’s Eve and Charles Xavier was taking the elevator up to the top floor of Toppers' House with a bottle of wine in his lap.  In his coat pocket, he had a corkscrew and his wallet, containing three carefully written notes addressed to Hank, Ororo and Logan.  He pressed the button for the sixteenth floor and waited.

Ten seconds later, a tall man slipped into the elevator just before the doors started to close.  He glanced at the buttons, but decided not to push any of them and merely leaned against the wall opposite Charles.

Charles hoped that the man didn’t notice his trembling grip on the bottle of wine, and the elevator started to ascend.

-

Erik Lehnsherr stared resolutely at the electronic display above the elevator doors and watched as the numbers slowly climbed. In his jacket pocket were a lighter, a packet of cigarettes, and the receipt for said packet of cigarettes.  He wasn't carrying a note.

-

As the elevator doors opened on the sixteenth floor, Charles forced himself to avoid eye contact with the tall man, and calmly wheeled himself along the corridor to the door leading to the roof patio.  He was just leaning forward to open the door when he heard someone behind him speak.

“Well, this is awkward.”

Charles twisted around in his chair to see the same man from the elevator, standing right behind with a twitchy smile.  Charles stared at the man for a moment.

“Are you here for the, uh, hotspot?” he asked the man, his ears flushing.

The man snorted.

“Well, I’m not here for the fucking view, am I?”

Charles started, then sniffed.

“Yes, I suppose not,” he replied.  “Would you like to go first?  I shall probably take a while.”

The man stared at him.

“Sure,” he said.

He walked around Charles and opened the door.  He peered out the doorway as a gust of icy wind blew through.

“Huh.”

“What?” asked Charles.

“Looks like someone’s beaten us to it.”

“Are you serious?” asked Charles. 

But the man was right.  Across the roof patio, there was a small three-foot high concrete patio on which a dark figure was sitting.

“I suppose we should wait for them to finish,” Charles suggested, uncomfortably.

They both peered through the doorway at the person on the other side of the roof.

“Maybe you could go out and ask them how long they’re planning on taking?” Charles asked.

The man glared at Charles.

“It’s cold,” he informed Charles, flatly.

“Fine,” said Charles.  “I’ll go.”

The man sighed, probably feeling guilty for making a stranger in a wheelchair go out into the cold for him.

“No,” he said, with a suffering tone.  “We’ll both go.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chicago winters were notoriously brutal and sitting on the edge of the roof of a sixteen-story building didn’t help.  That small three-foot high concrete barrier around the roof hadn’t done anything to protect from the wind (or from a 55 metre drop, for that matter), but Anna Marie wasn’t wearing a hat.  It wasn't like she was going to get ill later.

She shivered as another spike of icy wind blew in her face, causing her eyes to water and the glowy streetlights below blur.     

“Hello.”

Anna Marie flinched, instinctively clutching at the concrete with red-cold fingers.

“Oh, sorry,” the voice continued.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Anna Marie slowly looked behind her to see a guy in a wheelchair and his friend, standing next to him.

“We were just wondering,” the man in the wheelchair continued.  “How long-”

“Wait,” interrupted the standing friend.  “How old are you?”

Anna Marie stared at the men.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“My name is Charles,” the man in the wheelchair said.

“You can call me Erik,” said the other guy.  “Do you want a cigarette?”

Anna Marie blinked.

“Erik!” Charles exclaimed.  “She looks barely old enough to drive, let alone smoke a cigarette.”

Erik snorted.

“And yet she’s old enough to sit on the edge of Toppers’ House roof,” he pointed out.  Then, to Anna Marie, “I bet you’ve never tried one before.  American kids never have.”

 “I haven’t,” said Anna Marie.  She had never even tried a cigarette, having never seen the point when there was alcohol around, and she had always been a bit conscious of her family history of cancer.  Not that it mattered now, the possibility of cancer or anything else.

“Well, you can’t die until you’ve had one,” Erik said.

“Says who?” asked Charles, still in apparent outrage.

“Says anyone who’s ever had a goddamn cigarette.”

“I’ll have one,” Anna Marie said.

“You’re going to have to come off the wall, then,” said Erik.

Anna Marie glared at him.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” she told him.  “I’m not coming down.”

Erik rolled his eyes.

“The wind is going to blow the cigarette right out if you keep sitting there,” he said.  “We’re going to have to sit with our backs to the wall.”

He glanced nervously at Charles.

“That won’t be a problem for you, will it?”

Charles stared at Erik, flatly.

“If you’re asking me if a man who’s been paralysed for fourteen years can sit on the fucking floor, the answer you’re looking for is yes,” Charles said.  Then, as if invigorated by his own vitriol, he added: “and I’ll have a cigarette too.  Does anyone want some wine?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Who’s the responsible adult now, Charles?” Erik asked, as Anna Marie took a swig from the bottle of wine, the three of them sitting on the cold concrete with their backs leaning against the wall.

“I’m not a child,” Anna Marie said, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.  “I’m twenty-one.”

"Yeah," Erik snorted.  "And I'm thirty-five, employed and married with two adorable children, and not on the roof of Toppers’ House on New Year’s."

Charles chuckled hollowly.

"My dad was thirty-nine, employed and married with two adorable children when he put a pistol in his mouth," he said. "It doesn't always make a difference."

There was a pause.

“My name is Anna Marie, by the way,” Anna Marie offered. 

"So, why are you here, then, Anna Marie?" Charles asked.

“For fuck’s sake,” complained Erik.  “I thought killing myself was my ticket out of uncomfortable group therapy.”

“You wanted to kill yourself?” Anna Marie asked, shocked.

“No,” said Erik, sarcastically.  “I was planning on bird-watching tonight.”

“You too?” Anna Marie asked, looking at Charles.

Charles grimaced.

“Oh,” she said, taking another puff of the cigarette.       

For some reason, she had never really considered the fact that twenty-something year olds could want to die.  Twenty-something was the best age.  It made sense for teenagers to want to die, because high school was a literal hellscape, and it made sense for old people to want to die, because they were trapped in a loveless marriage or they wanted to die with dignity or whatever.  Twenty-something year olds weren’t trapped in anything. 

“So why do you want to die, then?” Anna Marie asked Erik, genuinely curious.

Erik rolled his eyes.

"If I thought 'talking about it' was going to do anything, I wouldn't be here at all, would I?"

"None of us have jumped yet," Charles pointed out.  "Maybe we should talk.”

“Alright,” said Erik.  “Tell us, Charles.  Explain in precise detail exactly how unbearable your life is and maybe it’ll make us want to die a little less.”

“Well,” said Charles, clearing his throat awkwardly.  “Two days ago, my mother died.”

There was a heavy pause.

“Is that it?” asked Erik.

“Well,” Charles started.

“Were you close?” Erik interrupted.

“No,” Charles said.

“Then what does it matter?”

“Oh my God,” Anna Marie said.  “Let Charles finish his fucking story.”

Charles opened his mouth again to speak, but he was interrupted yet again, this time by the door to the roof opening and light from the corridor shining into the three people’s eyes.

“Hey,” said a figure in the doorway, stepping onto the roof.  “Did any of you guys order a pizza?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Warren Worthington was stuck delivering pizzas during the night shift on New Year’s, it seemed that the universe was telling him to fuck himself.  When, at eleven o’clock that night, there was a prank call delivery called to “the roof of Toppers’ House”, it seemed that the universe was actually telling him to kill himself.  Which was fine with him, really.  He had nothing else going on in his life.

What Warren wasn’t expecting was anyone to actually be on the roof, let alone what looked like a dysfunctional family sharing a bottle of wine. 

Upon closer inspection, however, he saw that the two men that he had assumed were much older looked only a few years older than him, even if the girl was probably only sixteen.

“No one ordered a pizza,” the shorter of the two men informed Warren.

“Oh,” said Warren.  “Are you sure?”

“What kind of pizza is it?” asked the girl.

Warren looked down at the receipt stapled to the pizza box.

“Looks like Hawaiian,” he told her.

“Does that have pork in it?” the other man asked Warren, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete floor.

“I think so,” said Warren.  “Do you want it?”

The man shook his head but the girl held out a hand.

“Yes please,” she said, taking the box from Warren.  “Is it okay if I don’t pay?  I don’t have any cash on me.”

“I do,” piped up the short guy, rifling through the pocket of his coat, before removing a wallet and taking out a twenty dollar note.

“Thanks,” said Warren, taking the money.  It felt like a very meaningless gesture.

The taller guy seemed to have the same opinion.

“Charles brought his wallet?” he snorted.

The shorter man, apparently-Charles, shrugged.

“I bring it everywhere,” he said.  “Even off the edge of rooftops.”

Warren stared.

“Hang on,” he said slowly.  “You guys aren’t a bunch of those… murder-suicide types, are you?”

It was almost impressive how quickly Warren’s outlook on life switched from “suicidal” to “terrified of imminent death”.

“Dude, what the fuck, no,” said the girl.  “We just… happened to be in the same place at the same time.”

“Oh,” said Warren.  “Me too, I guess.”

The three people sitting on the ground stared at him.

Then, Charles asked:

“would you like some wine?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“The newspapers are going to have a field day,” the pizza delivery boy said, once he and everyone else had started grabbing a piece of the pizza.

“What do you mean?” asked Erik, leaning over to take back the wine bottle.

"Quadruple suicide just north of the Loop, definitely,” the pizza boy replied.  “Don't you read the obituaries?"

Erik did, but he didn't want to mention it, lest he enforced the stereotype that all suicidal people read the obituaries.

“I wonder what they’ll say about me,” Anna Marie mused.

“I doubt they can say much,” the pizza boy said.  “You’re, like, sixteen?”

Anna Marie scowled.

“I’m twenty-one.”

The pizza boy laughed, which was ridiculous, since he only looked about nineteen himself.

“You’re far too young to know what you want,” he told her, which was probably not the wisest thing to have said.

"Fuck off!" Anna Marie said.  "If I'm old enough to drive a car, I'm old enough to die.  Full stop."

"I'm not saying you're too young to die," the pizza boy said.  "I just think you might want to look into other options."

“Like what?” Anna Marie demanded.

“Start a band,” suggested the pizza boy.  “Try vegetarianism.  Change religions.”

“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” Anna Marie spat.

“Hey,” said Charles, gently.  “Let’s cool it, maybe?”

“Oh, fuck off,” said the pizza boy.

“Hey!” said Anna Marie.  “Don’t talk to Charles like that.  His mom just died.”

The pizza boy looked at Charles.

“Sorry, man,” he said, in a voice that actually sounded genuine.  “Is that why you’re here?”

Charles pinched his lips.

“Not quite,” he said.  Then, when no one else said anything, he continued: “I’m here because…  because, right before she died, my mother told me that she wished I had died in the car accident fourteen years ago, instead of my twin sister.”

The pizza boy glanced at Anna Marie with a distraught expression.

“That’s terrible,” he said.

“Yeah, well,” Charles said with a self-deprecating smile.  “The worst part was that I didn’t even know I had a twin sister until that moment.”

“Seriously?” asked Anna Marie.

Charles chuckled hollowly.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I just can’t remember her at all.  The accident happened when I was- I mean, we were- seven, and I was in the hospital for a while afterwards.  But I can’t remember anything that happened before then and no one ever even mentioned her afterwards.”

Pause.

“I just wish,” Charles started, before stopping.  Then, “I just wish that I knew why my mother hid my twin sister from me.  What could she possibly have to gain from that?  But I’ll never know.  I don’t even know if I want to know.”

There was an excruciatingly long silence.

Then,

“I’m sorry for killing the mood, I guess,” Charles said, looking up, with a weak smile.

Erik couldn’t help it.  He started to laugh.

The pizza boy and Anna Marie stared at Erik in horror, before realizing that Charles was chuckling too, if a bit wetly.

“My name is Warren,” said the pizza boy, suddenly.  “And, in answer to your…”

He gestured at Anna Marie, who supplied her name.

“In answer to Anna Marie’s question about how ‘it’s working out for me’,” Warren continued.  “It isn’t.  Everything is shit.  I dropped out of college to be in an indie rock band with my best friend, until she quit and decided to ‘get real’, which apparently meant going back to college to study public policy.  It was an utter fucking betrayal.”

“That’s it?” Erik asked.

“Well, our entire ethos was about dropping out and flipping off various institutions,” Warren replied, indignantly.  “We were _called_ The Elysium Dropouts.”

Erik clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

“Well, what’s your reason for being here?” Warren demanded.  “Since you seem so eager to dismiss mine.”

Erik shrugged.

“I’m depressed,” he said.

“Depressed,” Warren repeated, coldly.

“It’s a serious condition,” Erik informed Warren, deadpan.  “Affecting approximately one in ten American adults.”

And then, to Erik’s great horror, Anna Marie started to cry.

It was very subtle, almost imperceptible in the darkness: just a few tears rolling down her pale cheeks.  There were neither sobs nor sniffs.  It felt like a very resigned kind of crying.

Whatever Erik had been expecting when he’d engaged in conversation with a group of suicidals, he certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone to cry.  This had probably been an oversight on Erik’s part.

“Um,” said Erik, thinking that it would probably be bad taste to jump off the edge just so he didn’t have to deal with this situation.

“Are you alright?” Charles asked Anna Marie.

“Funny thing to ask, given our location,” Erik said, wryly.  Then, with some effort at gentleness: “Anna Marie, do you want some more wine?”

“Dude! Stop offering alcohol to minors,” Warren exclaimed. 

“It’s okay,” Anna Marie said.  “I’m just a little bit miserable.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Warren said.

“It seems so stupid,” Anna Marie said, wiping her eyes with a sleeve.  “All my problems are so… adolescent.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Warren asked.

“What?”

“I mean, if you think that your problems are trivial, then maybe you can fix them and you don’t have to die after all,” Warren explained.

“But,” Charles interjected.  “If your problems are truly making you feel this miserable, they shouldn’t be dismissed.  Your feelings are valid, no matter what your age.”

“Fucking hell,” said Erik.  “Why don’t we ask her what’s wrong before giving her the therapist’s rundown?”

“Well,” said Anna Marie.  “I’m failing school and my mom doesn’t know yet.  Also, there’s a group of kids at school who are intent on making my life hell.  And there’s this… someone I like who’s dating one of the assholes.  And the asshole just found out about it because my only friend in the world can’t keep her fucking mouth shut.”

“Ouch,” said Warren.  “But why is he dating the asshole if she’s such an asshole?”

Anna Marie whispered something unintelligible.

“Sorry?” said Charles.

“She,” whispered Anna Marie, barely audible over the wind.  “Her name is Kitty.  And the asshole is called Lance.”

“Oh,” said Warren.  “Man, that sucks though.”

Erik felt like he ought to say something, or show his support to this girl, but he wasn’t sure how, outside of offering alcohol and cigarettes.

“What do we do now?” Warren asked, looking at Erik.

Since when had Erik become the decision-maker to this little group of depressives?

“Well,” said Erik, pretending to think.  “Have you ever seen ‘Strangers on a Train’?”

“Erik!” Charles admonished.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Erik said, drily.  “It’d only end in more murder-suicide.”

“What’s ‘Strangers on a Train’?” Anna Marie asked, horrified.

“It’s an old film by Alfred Hitchcock,” said Charles.  “It’s about two men who meet for the first time on a train.  They both have grievances against various people in their lives and so they decide to kill the other man’s grievance so that neither would be a suspect in their respective murders.”

“Well, why not?” Warren asked.

“Why not what?” Charles asked.

“Why can’t we do that?” said Warren.  “I mean, I know we can’t actually kill anyone.  But maybe we can solve each other’s problems since we can’t seem to solve our own.”

“So, you’re just going to bring Charles’ dead sister back to life, are you?” Erik asked, coldly.  “Or maybe just travel back in time so you can stop me from ever getting born?”

“Hang on, Erik,” Charles said.  “I think Warren might be onto something.  Doesn’t it feel like there’s a reason we’ve all found each other tonight?”

“Not really,” said Erik.  “The most famous suicide hotspot in Chicago on the most popular night of the year.”

“I just feel like maybe there’s a purpose to this coincidence,” Charles continued.  “Maybe we’re supposed to help each other.”

Erik couldn’t believe this.

“And how exactly are you intending to help us?” he asked Charles.

“We’ll start with Anna Marie,” Charles said, with the authority of a schoolteacher.  Then, turning to the girl in question, he asked: “this Kitty.  Is she a reasonable, compassionate human being?”

“I guess,” said Anna Marie, at the same time that Warren scoffed: “she’s a teenager.”

“Then maybe we can find her and you can talk to her,” said Charles, triumphantly.  “Maybe convince her to tell the other kids to back off or something.”

“This isn’t a 90s sitcom,” Erik complained, but no one took any notice. 

“I mean, maybe,” Anna Marie said, unconvinced.  “But she probably won't want to talk to me."

"You haven't got anything to lose," Charles pointed out.  "You might as well exhaust all your options."

"I guess," Anna Marie said.  "But Kitty will almost definitely be partying with Lance tonight at one of the football guys’ houses.”

“Erik and I can distract him,” Warren suggested, clenching his hands into mock fists.

“Yeah,” said Erik, sarcastically.  “I’d love my last night on earth to be spent beating the shit out of a teenager.”  Okay, maybe he wasn’t being that sarcastic.

“Then it’s settled,” Charles said, clasping his hands together.  “We’ll go help Anna Marie with her problems and then reconvene and decide if we can help anyone else or if we should still go through with killing ourselves.  Does that sound like a plan?”

“I’m in,” Warren said, quickly.

“Me too,” added Anna Marie.

They all looked at Erik.

He sighed.

“I guess I should wring the last dregs of purpose out of my life now before I throw it away," he said, generously. 

“Thanks, Erik,” Charles said, with a warm smile.

Erik rolled his eyes.

He was only doing this for Anna Marie and the fact that it would probably bum everyone out if he decided to kill himself in front of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Part Two: The House Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles, Erik and Warren try to fix Anna Marie's problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: obviously for more suicide mentions but also alcohol, casual ableism, emetophobia, the use of homophobic slurs, bullying, and misgendering/outing of a trans person
> 
> stay safe, friends!!

 

 

 

 

 

Anna Marie didn’t want to come down from the roof.

The thing about smoking her first cigarette on the edge of Toppers' House roof with complete strangers was that it didn’t matter.  Nothing was real and so nothing mattered.  It was like the roof was a pocket in time where she could do what she liked without ever suffering the consequences.  When she looked down at the occasional tiny car that drove down the street, she felt distant, removed from everyone in the world.  Maybe she'd already died, and this was her heaven.

“Someone remind me.  How the fuck are we planning on getting from the Loop to Avalon Park at eleven-thirty on New Year’s Eve?” asked Erik.

Anna Marie turned away from the edge.  Whatever this was, it wasn’t what she would expect from an afterlife.

“A taxi,” said Charles, as he eased himself back up into his wheelchair.  “I’ll cover it.”

“Can we go sooner rather than later?” Warren asked.  “It’s so fucking cold I think my fingers are about to fall off.”

“Alright,” said Charles.  “Is everyone ready?”

Anna Marie had to suppress a laugh at the dagger eyes Erik was giving Charles at that moment.

“Then, let’s go!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I call shotgun,” said Erik, the moment that the taxi had pulled up to the curb.

“Really?” demanded Charles.  “You’re really going to force a disabled man to sit in the backseat squashed up against two other people just so you can get some extra leg room?”

Erik narrowed his eyes at Charles, trying to ascertain whether this was a serious concern or just a really good bluff.  Then he decided it was worth a leg cramp if it meant being a slightly better person. 

Two minutes later, he would regret that decision.  Anna Marie had told Erik that he had to take the middle seat because he had the “narrowest hips”, which could have been bearable if not for the constant conversation between the passengers sitting on either side of him in the backseat.  Who knew that two teenagers could get so damn talkative after only a few sips of wine?  He blamed Charles.  This was why Erik only ever gave kids cigarettes.  

Erik was so relieved when the taxi finally came to a stop. 

He leant forward to look out of Anna Marie’s window to see a large detached house with half a dozen teenagers milling about the front yard holding red solo cups.

“Is this it?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she replied, her expression suddenly very tight.  She looked towards the front seat.  “Charles?  I’m starting to think this is maybe not such a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine, Anna Marie,” Charles replied, breezily.

“And even if it isn’t,” Erik added, with an encouraging smile.  “You always have a Plan B to fall back on.”

Charles sighed.

“Okay,” he said, handing a stack of bills over to the driver.  “Everyone out of the cab.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was pretty dark out so it wasn’t until Charles’ wheelchair had smacked against something hard and concrete that he realised there were stairs leading up to the front door.

“Ah,” he said with a wince.  “Um, Warren and Erik?  Why don’t you go in with Anna Marie?  I’ll be just out here if you need me.”

“I’ll wait with you, Charles,” Erik said, quickly.  “I don’t like crowds.”

“Okay,” said Warren.  “We won’t be too long.”

Charles and Erik watched as the two teenagers walked up the stairs together, past a group of giggling teens, drinking neon pink liquid out of red cups and wearing puffy Canada Goose jackets.  As soon as Anna Marie and Warren had entered the house, Charles looked up at Erik with pursed lips.

“What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Erik looked at him with mock confusion.

“I thought we’d established this already,” he said, furrowing his brow.  “I’ve got depression.”

“‘You always have Plan B to fall back on’,” Charles repeated, flatly.  “Why the fuck would you remind her?  Do you think this is bloody funny?”

Erik genuinely did look confused then.

“What do you mean ‘remind’?” he asked.  “She was already thinking about it.  We were all thinking about it.  There’s no avoiding it at this point.”

Charles glared at him.

“What?” he hissed.  “So, you’re not going to try to help a troubled teenage girl just because you think that suicide is _unavoidable_?” 

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then say it better.”

Erik sighed and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

“I don’t think Anna Marie should kill herself,” he said.

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page with that,” Charles replied, icily.

“Do you ever shut up when you think you’re right?” Erik asked.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“Okay, sorry,” he said.  “You were saying…”

“I don’t think Anna Marie should kill herself,” Erik said.  “But I’m also not going to tell her what to do.  It seems that teenagers have enough people telling them what to do.  No wonder they’re all jumping off buildings.”

There was a silence during which Charles wondered how many teenagers Erik had met on the roof of a tall building.

“Also,” Erik added, looking at the ground.  “For a couple of years, the thing that, you know, kept me alive was the knowledge that I could always just… quit.  Nothing makes life more bearable than dying, you know?”

Charles looked at Erik carefully.

“You’ve been depressed for quite a while, haven’t you, Erik?”

Erik clenched his jaw and turned his gaze from the floor to look at Charles directly.

“You can’t be my therapist, my friend, _and_ the man who asked me if I’d like to go first off the edge, Charles.  It just doesn’t work that way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Charles opened his mouth, probably to spout some ridiculous banality stemming from a blatant saviour complex, but Erik couldn’t hear him over the sudden chorus of whoops and cheers coming from inside the house.

“I guess it must be midnight,” Erik said, once the noise had died down somewhat.

“I guess,” said Charles.

Erik wasn’t sure if he should wish Charles a happy New Year or if that would be in bad taste, so he just looked awkwardly around the garden.  It was a fairly upper-middle class area and he wondered if the parents and owners of this house knew how many people were coming to this party and how much alcohol there would be.  He wondered if they were even home.  He wondered if they minded two men in their mid-twenties just loitering about the yard, looking at the perennial flowers around the walls of the house and the funny-looking ceramic gnomes that stood by the foot of the stairs.

“Hey!” called a voice.

Erik looked up to see Warren, stumbling out of the front door, his leather jacket hanging off of one shoulder.  As the kid came closer, Erik noticed that his cheek was bruised and he was sporting a split lip.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Don’t pick a fight with a football player, dude,” Warren said, swaying heavily as he attempted to walk down the front steps.  “Just don’t do it.”

“Please say you’re drunk and not concussed,” Charles said, pleadingly.

“Don’t worry,” said Warren, with a hiccup.  “I’ve had like four shots since we got here.”

“Thanks, Warren,” said Erik.  “I’m sure that has alleviated all of Charles’ worries.”

Charles sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again.

“Did you see Anna Marie in there?” he asked.

Warren cocked his head to one side and pouted.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, slowly.  “Yes.”

This was when the front door burst open again, revealing a scowling Anna Marie walking quickly out of the house, pursued by another teenage girl with a long brown ponytail.

“Anna Marie, I’m so sorry,” said the girl as Anna Marie stormed down the stairs, stopped next to Charles and folded her arms.  “That was unforgivable.  He and I are over now, I swear.”

“It’s fine, whatever,” Anna Marie muttered, staring at the ground. 

“Genuinely,” the girl said, walking down the stairs and taking Anna Marie’s shoulder to squeeze gently.  “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, let me know.”

“Sure, okay,” Anna Marie said, pulling her shoulder out of the girl’s grip.  She turned to Charles and Erik.  “Can you take me home now?”

“Absolutely,” said Charles.

“Hey,” the girl said, turning and looking at Warren.  It was then that Erik noticed that she had a pierced septum.  “Aren’t you the guy who just punched my soon to be ex-boyfriend in the face?”

Warren gave her a dazzling smile, tainted only by the drying blood on his bottom lip.

“Was that the guy who called Annie a ‘dyke’?  Then, yes,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw Charles flinch.

“It’s Anna Marie, doofus,” Anna Marie growled.

“What happened to that guy?” Erik asked, clenching his fists by his sides. 

It was probably bad karma to crash a high school party to punch an already injured person ten years younger than you.  However, Erik had already racked up a couple of brownie points with the universe by sitting in the middle backseat of a taxicab earlier that night, so he could afford to do at least a little damage to some homophobic punk.

“Lance?” the girl asked.  “I think he’s upstairs with a bag of frozen peas on his face.  Serves him right.”

Then, as if she only just noticed them,

“I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“I’m Charles,” Charles said, grabbing onto the sleeve of Erik’s jacket, as if he knew what Erik was planning.  “And this is Erik and Warren.  We’re… friends of Anna Marie.”

“Oh,” said the girl.  “That’s cool.  I’m Kitty Pryde, from Anna Marie’s high school.”

“We figured,” said Erik, trying to pull his arm free from Charles.  That man had a really strong grip.

“So how do you know Anna Marie?” Kitty asked.

“Habitat for Humanity,” said Charles.

“Bingo night,” said Erik.

“We all tried to kill ourselves at the same place at the same time,” said Warren.  “Isn’t that fucking hilarious?”

And then he bent over and vomited on one of the ceramic garden gnomes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Thankfully, Erik never got the chance to commit aggravated assault on Lance Alvers.  Charles managed to usher them all into a cab the moment Warren had stopped spewing, while Kitty watched the entire spectacle with politely concealed horror.

“Alright,” said Charles, turning around and looking at the others sitting in the backseat.  “Where do you live, Anna Marie?”

Anna Marie relayed the address to the taxi-driver, who threatened to fine the group $50 if anyone threw up in his cab, before changing gears and starting the drive.

“What are we doing after Annie goes home?” Warren asked Erik.

“It’s quite late,” said Charles, despite the fact that it wasn’t even one yet on New Year’s Day.  “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Warren said, quietly.

“And considering I gave the keys to my apartment back to my landlord wrapped in a napkin that said ‘fuck you’ in biro, I don’t really want to go home either,” added Erik.

“That’s fine,” said Charles.  “You can both crash at mine tonight.  It’s not too far and I’m sure my roommate won’t mind.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Charles’ roommate was cool.  His name was Hank and Warren hadn’t even taken two steps into Charles’ apartment before Hank had called his bruise “impressive”.  “Impressive”!  That was better compliment than anything a newspaper critic had ever written about _The Elysium Dropouts_.

“Thank you very much,” Warren said, graciously, as he walked a further four steps into the apartment and collapsed onto the sofa.

“He’s quite drunk,” Charles told Hank.

“Yes,” said Hank.  “I can see that.”

“You don’t mind if he and Erik stay the night here?” Charles asked, anxiously.

“Not at all,” Hank said, slowly.  “Did you end up going to that party, then?”

“Which party?” Charles asked.

“You said you were going to Ororo’s New Year’s gettogether,” Hank elaborated.  “I assumed that’s where you went.”

Warren watched blearily as Erik and Charles had a brief moment of eye contact.

“Yes,” Charles said.  “That’s where I met these two.”

“Cool,” said Hank.  “So, how do you know Ororo, Erik?”

Warren hiccupped back a laugh as Erik blinked and didn’t reply for a full two seconds.

“Book club,” he said, finally.

Hank laughed.

“And yet she makes fun of me for hosting monthly game nights,” he said with a smile and a shake of his head, which meant that Erik had passed the test.  “Alright, I suppose we should let Warren sleep.”

He’d remembered Warren’s name.  That was nice of him.

“Goodnight, everyone.  Happy New Year.”

And then he left the room and closed the door behind him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 “Your roommate seems nice,” Erik commented, as Charles pulled out an extra set of blankets and pillows from his wardrobe.

“Yeah,” Charles said and dropped the pile of bedding on the floor next to his bed.  “He’s a good guy.  I’d miss him a lot.  Is this alright?”  He pointed at the makeshift bed on the floor.

“More comfortable than a concrete pavement,” Erik joked, before unbuttoning his jeans, taking off his jumper, and pulling the blanket over himself.

Charles rolled over to the doorway to turn out the lights, and rolled back to his bed, more slowly this time, considering there was a body on the floor that he couldn’t see.  He pulled himself up onto the mattress and settled into a comfortable position.

About fifteen minutes later, Charles wasn’t even a little bit closer to sleep.

“Hey, Charles?” a voice whispered.

“Yes, Erik,” Charles replied, looking up at the darkness above him.

“What are you thinking about?” Erik asked.

Charles chewed his lip.

“I’m thinking about…” he said, slowly.  “Well, I’m wondering if I’m glad I met you.”

“No offence,” said Erik.  “But I’m not glad I met any of you.”

“Oh,” said Charles, unable to avoid feeling a little stung by that.  “Well, I expected as much.”

“But I’m glad Anna Marie met us,” Erik said.

Charles huffed out a breath.

“Me too.”

-

Charles woke up the next morning just before seven o’clock.  He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, before sitting up and looking down at the floor by his bed, where, to his surprise, Erik was lying on his back with his eyes open.

“You’re still here,” Charles said, quietly.

“I know right,” Erik replied with morning hoarseness.

“Do you want… something?” Charles asked, wincing.  He’d never had someone stay over in his room until the next morning before.  He wasn’t entirely sure of the protocol.

“Let’s go check on Warren,” Erik said, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Okay.”

But Warren wasn’t on the sofa when Charles and Erik went out into the living room.

“He must have gone home,” Charles said with a hopeful smile at Erik.

Erik shrugged.

“What do you want to do now, Charles?”

Charles chewed on his bottom lip.

“What _can_ we do?” he asked.

“Anything you want,” said Erik, casually. 

Charles thought hard for a moment.  Then,

“is it fucked up that I don’t want to die; I just want to eat waffles?”

Erik snorted.

“Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up, Charles,” he said, with a pinched smile.

“Yeah?” Charles replied, smiling back.  “That’s what I thought.”

They went into the kitchen and Charles got started looking for the waffle batter mix.

Erik scoffed a bit at the fact that Charles used packets of instant powder to cook instead of real ingredients, which amazed Charles.

“You’re depressed and you still manage to cook?” Charles asked, in astonishment.  “I can’t even manage eggs most days and I’m not even mentally ill.”

Erik straight up laughed then.

“You’re not mentally ill?” he asked, with amused incredulity.  “Charles-”

But Erik was interrupted by the entrance of Hank, who was walking barefoot into the kitchen with a wide-eyed expression.

“Um, Charles?” said Hank, in a shaky voice.  “Did you know that you’re on the news this morning?”

Charles swiveled around instantly.

“What?”

Hank held out his phone, which seemed to be on the webpage of a local Chicago tabloid article, but Hank’s hand was trembling so much that Charles had to take the phone from him to actually read the headline.

SEN. WORTHINGTON’S SON AND HEIRESS TO XAVIER FORTUNE CAUGHT IN NEW YEAR’S EVE SUICIDE PACT

Charles dropped the phone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has kudo'ed and commented so far!!! you all make my day a little brighter


	3. Part Three: Anna Marie's Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry for the long delay. my excuse is that i am a) a piece of shit b) incredibly depressed. so here we are
> 
> Trigger Warnings!!! More general suicidal themes, depression, mental health
> 
> Also: graphic ableism, graphic transphobia, misgendering, shitty parenting, immigration politics
> 
> if you want to skip this second round of triggers, stop reading when you reach the headline of the article and start again when the font becomes unitalicised. most of the bad triggers are in the newspaper article.

 

 

 

 

 

The phone made a horrible clattering sound against the wooden floor as it fell.

“I thought you said you were at Ororo’s,” Hank said, crossing his arms.

Erik bent down to pick up the fallen phone and examined it for scratches.  It was still open on the online article and Erik tried skimming it, but the brightness was too high and the words started to spin on the screen and he had to look away.

“I was,” said Charles, finally.

Hank carded an anxious hand through his hair.

“Really?” he said, a semitone higher than before.  “Because I called her up a few minutes ago, and she said you hadn’t even spoken to her since early November.”

Charles blinked.

“Oh,” he said, timidly.

“Charles,” Hank said, with a horrible crack in his voice.  “Where were you last night?”

Erik silently cleared his throat.  He could hear the radiator in another room hissing.

“Should I go?” he asked.

Charles and Hank ignored him.

“I just…” Charles said, looking down at his hands.   “We were on the roof of Toppers’ House.  I’m sorry.”

Hank clasped his hand over his mouth.

“Did I do something?” he asked, quietly.

“No, Hank,” Charles said, wearily.  “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then I should have done something,” Hank said, crossing his arms again and pacing across the kitchen.

“No, it was _me_.  It was all me. It’s always…” Charles sighed.  “There’s just something wrong with me,” he said with a weak smile.  “That’s all.”

Hank stopped pacing and braced his arms on the kitchen counter, facing away from Charles.

“Do you need me to call someone?” he asked, his voice even.

Charles grimaced.

“I’d really rather you didn’t,” he said.

“I’d feel much better if you had someone to talk to,” Hank said, turning around and looking at Charles directly.  “Please. Charles-”

“I have people to talk to,” Charles said, quickly. “In fact, I’m meeting them this morning so I’d better go.”

“Charles-”

“I’m sorry, Hank. I really am.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anna Marie woke up that with a horrible weight in the pit of her stomach.  She rolled over in her bed and turned on her phone to see if Kitty had sent her anything.  She hadn’t, which made Anna Marie feel even worse for just thinking that Kitty might have messaged a freak like her.  Anna Marie rubbed her eyes and absent-mindedly opened Facebook so she could procrastinate getting up.

After adjusting the brightness down to its lowest level, Anna Marie squinted at the first post on her feed: a link to an article that someone had posted on one of the cheerleaders’ walls with the caption: “isn’t this ur party???? wtf lol”

Anna Marie frowned and clicked on the article.

Underneath the headline, there was a grainy, dark photograph that looked like someone had blown up a shitty Android phone camera picture.  Anna Marie re-adjusted her brightness so she could actually make out the subject of the photograph and peered at it closer.  Her jaw dropped.

It was a picture of her.  Well, she was in the bottom left corner facing the other way so you could just see the back of her.  In fact, nobody could really know it was her, since her tell-tale bleached blonde streak wasn’t visible from this angle, unless they had been there, in that cheerleader’s front yard where this picture had been taken.  The centre of this picture, however, was taken up by Charles, Warren and another figure Anna Marie assumed to be Erik.  It was a terrible photograph, really: she only recognised Charles because of the reflections off the wheels of his chair, and Warren by his blond hair and vague state of undress.  Erik was practically invisible.

Anna Marie bit her lip.  Why the hell would anyone be interested in them?  Her heart pounding, she scrolled down to read the article.

_SEN. WORTHINGTON’S SON AND HEIRESS TO XAVIER FORTUNE CAUGHT IN NEW YEAR’S EVE SUICIDE PACT_

_New Year_ _’_ _s Eve is traditionally a night of celebration of the past and excitement for the future.  Certainly, this is the case for most people, including sixteen-year-old Tabitha Smith, who never expected her high school New Year_ _’_ _s party to be crashed by the mentally disturbed adult relatives of State Senator Warren Worthington Jr and renowned military scientist, Brian Xavier._

_Senator Worthington was a leading figure in American immigration politics throughout 2016: his adamant push for stricter border control and his recent endorsement of allocating more national resources towards deportation have made him a regular target of the Political Correctness crowd and online liberal rants.  In an interview in August 2016, he told the Chicago Post that his son, also named Warren, is studying at an unspecified liberal arts college on the east coast.  However, the nineteen-year-old Warren III was seen just last night at a Chicago private high school party, swinging fists with a star football player.  An anonymous source informs this newspaper that he spent the rest of the night spitting blood and telling the surrounding youths of his plans to kill himself._

_Why was allegedly college-educated Warren III picking fights with teenagers at a party in the Southside?  Was this related to the undeniable mental illness that caused him to profess his desire to commit suicide?  Was Warren III actually prepared to kill himself, or was this just another adolescent ploy for media attention?_

_The plot thickens when we bring in another player to the stage: twenty-one-year-old Charlotte Xavier, daughter of the late Brian Xavier.  Brian Xavier was a prominent scientist who worked for the Ministry of Defense in the late 80s to early 90s by making discoveries that were crucial to ending the Cold War.  Tragically, he killed himself at the end of the millennium, leaving Charlotte fatherless at a young age.  Perhaps it was the loss of her father at such a young age, or perhaps it was the gruesome car accident that lost her the use of her legs, but sources close to the Xavier family remark that Charlotte has always been extremely antisocial and has harbored a desire to change her appearance, even to the point of changing genders._

Across the hall, the doorbell rang, but Anna Marie ignored it to keep reading.

_How these two deeply disturbed individuals ended up at a sixteen-year-old’s New Year’s gathering is unclear.  However, a witness to the scene says that Warren III described his relationship with Charlotte as one of “mutual understanding” and that they “both tried to kill [them]selves at the same place at the same time”.  As of yet, it is unknown whether they ultimately succeeded their goal after leaving the party last night.  Senator Worthington Jr was not available for comment._

A knock on Anna Marie’s bedroom door distracted her from the rising nausea in her stomach.  She got out of bed and opened it, eyes widening in surprise when she saw her visitor.

“Warren?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Warren had woken up that morning with three new emails. 

The first had been from his father’s lawyer, reminding him that, even though his father had officially cut all financial and familial ties with him, it would be a lot easier for everyone if Warren stopped causing embarrassment in his father’s name.  Tacked onto the end of the message had been the names and numbers of two private psychiatrists in the Loop that Warren couldn’t even afford if he stopped eating and paying rent. 

The second email had been from the pizza place, telling him that he was fired.

The third email had been from Reckless Records, informing him of a sale on vinyl that would be happening during the first two weeks of January.  Warren had bookmarked this email.

Then, he had gotten up from Charles’ surprisingly comfortable couch, stolen a cereal bar from a box on the living room coffee table, and left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I suppose you read the article,” Anna Marie said, once Warren had entered her bedroom and had sat down cross-legged on the floor.

“Article?” Warren asked, frowning.

Oh shit.

Anna Marie cleared her throat, before perching on the edge of her bed to speak to him.

“There was an article about you and Charles,” she said, her voice strained.

“Oh right,” said Warren, as though everything had been explained.  “Now I understand why I got fired.”

“You got fired?” Anna Marie asked.  “From the pizza delivery place?”

“Yeah,” Warren said, leaning back so he could lie on the floor.  “Not like I need the job now anyway.”

Anna Marie looked at him curiously.

“Did you need it to start with?” she asked, hesitantly.  “I mean, your dad’s-”

“Yes, I know who my father is, thanks,” Warren interrupted.  “Or… _was_ , anyway.  He disowned me.”

“People still do that?” Anna Marie asked, incredulously.

Warren chuckled.

“Apparently.”

“So,” said Anna Marie, awkwardly.  “What are you going to do now?”

Warren wrinkled his nose.

“Well, I don’t have a band,” he said.  “Or a family.  Or even a minimum wage job.”

“You have us,” Anna Marie suggested.

Warren stared at her.

“Yeah,” he said, finally, resting his head on the floor and sighing morosely.  “I guess I do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

While Charles went to freshen up before he and Erik went to “meet with people”, Erik continued sitting at the kitchen table while Hank glared at him.

“Thirty days,” Hank said, suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“Thirty days,” Hank repeated.  “That’s how long it takes.  I read a newspaper article about it.  You’re supposed to wait thirty days after considering suicide to see if you’ve changed your mind and most people do.”

“Most people wait thirty days?” Erik asked, confused.

“Most people change their minds,” clarified Hank.  “After thirty days.”

Erik thought about this.  Then, he laughed.

“That’s absolute bullshit,” he said.

“It was in the Huffington Post,” replied Hank, defensively.  “Apparently thirty days is long enough for things to get slightly better.”

Erik scoffed.

“Trust me, kid.  I’ve been around for twenty-four years and it only really goes downhill from birth.”

Hank sighed.  He poured himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink and sipped it, slowly.

“Fine,” he said.  “I get it.  You’ve been absolutely miserable since you first arrived on this planet and you just can’t wait to get off it.”

“Finally, somebody understands me,” said Erik in a completely monotone voice.

“But Charles isn’t like that,” Hank continued.  “He’s an optimist.”

“He tried to kill himself.”

“But he didn’t.”  Hank paused.  “He came down from the roof.  And he brought you with him.”

Erik stared at Hank, warily.

“What’s your point?” he asked.

Hank exhaled a long breath.

“I don’t know what you did last night,” he said.  “But I’m going to need you to do it again.”

“Do what?” Erik asked.

“I need you to keep Charles alive.”

Erik froze.

“Excuse me?”

“Just…” sighed Hank, putting his face in his hands.  “Just make sure he’s alright for the next thirty days.  I can’t do anything without him thinking I’m suffocating him or that he’s being a burden or…  He’ll be fine again in a month.  This just needs to blow over and he’ll be fine.”

Erik watched as Hank took several deep breaths.

“Okay, but what would I get out of this?” he asked.

“What do you want?” Hank asked, desperately.

Erik thought that would have been obvious by now.

“Erik?” called a voice from another room.  “Shall we get going?”

Erik looked at Hank, Hank’s bedhead even more pronounced now that he’d anxiously run his hands through it several times.

“There’s waffle mix in that bowl on the counter,” Erik said, before getting up and leaving the kitchen to find Charles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Charles probably should have felt embarrassed about flaunting his wealth, considering that this was the third taxi he had paid for in the last twelve hours.  However, he justified it to himself by thinking that Erik probably understood that there was nothing else to spend money on.  Also, it wasn’t like the Chicago public transit system was particularly accommodating to paraplegics and the idea of learning to drive had always filled Charles with horrible anxiety.

Erik, however, didn’t appear to have any opinion on the ludicrous number of cab rides.  He seemed particularly taciturn while Charles and he were sitting in the backseat on the way to Anna Marie’s, which really was saying something.  His face was slack and his eyes were completely still as he stared out of the window.  It was starting to worry Charles.

“I hope that Anna Marie is feeling alright this morning,” Charles said, trying to stir some conversation into the stillness.

Erik’s jaw clenched.

“I guess,” he said.

Charles peered at Erik with concern.

“Are _you_ feeling alright?” he asked.

Erik twitched.

“Do you ever wish you’d never met someone?”

Charles paused and glanced at the cab driver, before speaking.

“Yes,” he said, truthfully.  “I often wish I had never met Hank.  It would have made things… easier if we had never become friends.”

Erik nodded, as if that was the answer he had been expecting.

“By the way, what were you talking about?” Charles asked, suddenly.  He had been trying not to ask, but curiosity had gotten the better of him.  “You and Hank, I mean.  In the kitchen.”

“He wants me to look after you,” Erik replied.

Charles raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t need babysitting,” he said, haughtily. 

“Yeah, well,” said Erik, sounding almost annoyed.  “It’s not always about what _you_ need.  This is what you get for making friends with people.”

“And what are we, then?” Charles retorted, gesturing at the space between him and Erik.

There was a pause.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Erik, finally.  “Whatever we are, we won’t be soon.”

Then the cab pulled up to the curb and they had arrived.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Anna Marie was just putting on a sweater to cover up the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra under her pajamas when the doorbell rang again.

“Expecting somebody else?” Warren asked.

“I wasn’t even expecting you,” Anna Marie replied, but she walked over to her bedroom door and peered out, to see her mother open the front door and reveal Charles and Erik.

“Good morning,” said Charles, cheerfully, and, God, Anna Marie had forgotten how _British_ this guy was.  “We’re here to see Anna Marie.”

“Are you also here for the band practice?” asked Anna Marie’s mother, suspiciously.

“Sure,” said Erik.

“You told my mother that we were in a band together?” Anna Marie hissed at Warren, closing her bedroom door so her mother wouldn’t hear.  “I don’t even play an instrument!”

“It’s more conceptual than musical,” Warren explained.  “Think Slowdive meets Tangerine Dream.”

“I literally do not know what any of those words mean,” Anna Marie said.  “And I also don’t care because we’re not in a fucking band.”

Warren clutched his chest in mock agony.

“Way to rub it in,” he said.

Anna Marie frowned at him.

“Being in a band really meant that much to you?” she asked.

“You have no idea,” Warren replied.

Anna Marie considered this.

“Do you think you’d want to stick around if your band got back together?”

Warren put his hands down and looked at Anna Marie seriously.

“That’s not going to happen,” he said.

“But if it did?” she pressed.

“Anna Marie,” said Warren, with slow seriousness.  “If I thought there was a chance I could possibly be happy again, do you think I would have been where I was last night?”

“And where exactly was that?” Anna Marie drawled.

“Fucking Christ, you were on the roof with me!”

“Oh really?” Anna Marie retorted.  “Because, from what I can remember, I was the only one who actually made it to the edge.”

There was a knock at the bedroom door.  Warren wrenched open the door, scowling, to reveal Erik and Charles, who had apparently bluffed their way past Anna Marie’s mother.

“Good morning,” Charles said, far too brightly.  “I honestly hope we’re not intruding.”

“And I honestly don’t care,” said Erik, pushing past Anna Marie and Warren to immediately lie down on the floor next to Anna Marie’s bed with the crook of his elbow covering his eyes.

“Dude, are you hungover?” Warren asked, sitting down next to him.

“No,” said Erik, not moving.  “I’m horribly depressed.”

“Did you read the article?” Anna Marie asked, turning to Charles.

Charles sighed.

“No, I have not,” he said.  “And I don’t ever intend to.  It’s all just vaguely offensive fluff between news cycles.”

“ _Vaguely_?” Erik repeated, with a scoff.

“What I can’t figure out is who would have recognised you,” Anna Marie said.  “Are you really that famous?”

“Anna Marie, you go to a Chicago private school,” said Warren.  “Half of those kids’ parents have probably sucked my dad’s dick at some point.  And it’s not like Charles was being inconspicuous with his fucking custom-made Xavier wheelchair.”

Anna Marie glanced down at the chair.  It looked like a generic wheelchair to her, apart from the huge metal Xs on the wheels, but she had no idea how someone would have recognised that as an Xavier brand.  Crosses were pretty common shapes, especially on wheels.

“So, what do we do now?” Anna Marie asked.

“Who the fuck is ‘we’?” asked Erik, from the ground.

“I just kind of assumed that we would be sticking together,” Anna Marie said.  “You know, like a club.”

“What the fuck?” said Warren.

“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘suicide pact’,” said Erik.

“No suicide pacts!” exclaimed Charles.  “And I think Anna Marie is right.  Nobody should be allowed to die until we’ve at least tried to help each other.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Charles,” said Erik, but it sounded fairly half-hearted.

Charles looked like he was about to retort, but he was interrupted by Warren’s phone ringing.  Warren took the phone out of his pocket and stared at it.

“You’re not going to answer it?” Anna Marie asked.

“It’s Jubilee,” Warren said.

“What?”

“It’s Jubilee,” he said again, looking around at the rest of the group with almost awed surprise.  “The lead singer of my band.”

 

 

 

 

 


	4. The Diner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the kids get breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologise for how long it's taking me to write these. the hashtag depression has really hit me recently. anyway
> 
> content warning: suicide talk and swearing. a pretty tame chapter tbh

 

 

 

 

 

Warren tentatively raised the phone to his ear, as if afraid it would give him a static shock.

“Hello?”

“Oh, thank God,” whispered the familiar low voice of his ex-best friend and current public policy major at the University of Illinois Chicago.

“Uh, hi,” Warren said, incredibly aware of the three people in Anna Marie’s bedroom staring at him.

“Are you okay?” Jubilee asked, her voice tight.

“Yeah, I’m doing alright,” said Warren, casually.  “How about you?”

There was a pause, during which Erik stifled a pointed cough.

“So, you didn’t try to kill yourself last night?” Jubilee asked, slowly.

“Ah,” said Warren.  “Well, technically, sort of.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘technically sort of’?!” exclaimed Jubilee.  “What the fuck, Warren?”

“Uh,” said Warren, sheepishly. 

“I just…” Jubilee said.  “Can we… can we talk about this?”

Warren frowned.

“But, we are talking about it,” he said, confusedly.

“Warren,” Jubilee said with a sigh.  “I really don’t want to have this conversation with you over the phone.  Can we, like, meet at Valois diner in thirty minutes?”

Warren sucked on the inside of his cheek.

“Okay,” he said, eventually. 

Then, because he didn’t really know what else to say, he hung up, and then turned to the three other people in the room.

“Who feels like breakfast?” he asked, with a strained smile.

There was a pause, during which Anna Marie and Charles exchanged a hesitant look.

“I would kill for a waffle right now,” said Erik, from the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Because of Charles’ seemingly limitless willingness to pay for cabs, the group managed to get to the diner in under fifteen minutes, which left an awkward amount of waiting time.  The nature of the restaurant meant that there were only tiny round plastic tables to sit at.  With the four of them and Charles’ wheelchair, it was a bit of a tight squeeze and Anna Marie had no idea how Warren’s friend was going to fit.

As she started chewing on her first bite of pancake, Anna Marie realised that this was the first time she’d eaten since dinner last night.  Everything felt real: the chewiness of her food, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.  She realised she was dehydrated.

“How are you feeling, Anna Marie?” Charles asked, sipping at his coffee.

“I think I need some air,” she replied, staring at her wholly unappetizing plate of pancakes.

“Erik, would you go with her?” Charles asked.

Erik sighed dramatically.

“It’s too early to smoke,” he said to Charles.  “What’s the point of going outside?”

Then he turned to Anna Marie.

“Let’s make this quick,” he said.

After a moment of awkwardly shuffling their chairs out so there would be enough space to get out, Erik and Anna Marie left the diner.  Anna Marie felt very exposed standing in front of the restaurant, whose front was just several giant windows, so she stepped to the side and leant against the brick wall.  It was still cold as hell outside.

“So,” said Erik.  “Do you still feel like killing yourself?”

“Jesus, Erik,” said Anna Marie.  “What an ice-breaker.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” Erik replied, testily.  “What else would we talk about?  Sports?”

“What about the news?” she replied, drily.

“I heard Lincoln Park Zoo just adopted a new polar bear,” said Erik.

“Would you mind if you stopped being an asshole for, like, one minute?” Anna Marie demanded.

“Well, I tried stopping permanently last night,” said Erik with a horribly toothy smile.

Anna Marie scowled.

“Fine,” said Erik.  “What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” Anna Marie said, frustratedly.  “I just feel like so much is happening and nobody is telling me how to feel about any of it.”

“Okay,” said Erik, slowly.  “If you really want my advice on how to feel, I would suggest feeling fucking furious at whoever caused that article to be published this morning.  I would suggest feeling relieved that Katie or whoever the fuck seems like a vaguely decent human being.  I would suggest feeling happy about everything generally because that would make your life a hell of a lot easier.  And, finally, I would suggest feeling cold and hungry because I want to go back inside.”

Anna Marie stared at Erik for a moment.

“Okay,” she said, and they both went back in the diner together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Even though Charles had never met or even heard a description of Jubilee, he instantly knew who she was when she entered.  She was tiny, barely over five feet tall, but she was wearing a yellow bomber jacket adorned with various punk patches that more than made up for her inconspicuous stature.  She had bubblegum-pink lips that matched her aggressively pink eyeshadow.  Charles wasn’t sure what being a “sell-out” entailed, but he wouldn’t have pegged this girl as one.

“Warren,” she said, the moment she’d spotted their table and come over.

“Hey,” said Warren, stiffly.

“Who are your friends?” Jubilee asked, staring directly at Charles.

“Charles Xavier,” Charles said, polite despite the fact that she obviously already knew who he was.  He stuck out his hand for Jubilee to shake.  “I apologise for not getting up.”

“That’s fine,” said Jubilee, flushing a little, and leaning over the table to shake Charles’ hand. 

“I’m Anna Marie,” Anna Marie said, with a little wave.  “And this is Erik.”

“Cool,” said Jubilee.  “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Um,” said Warren.

“There’s not a lot of space at this table,” said Charles.  “Maybe we ought to split into two tables.”

“That’s okay,” said Warren, quickly.  “We can all move around a bit and pull up a chair.”

So, they did, with surprisingly minimal grumbling from Erik.

“I’m worried about you, Warren,” Jubilee said, sitting down at the chair Anna Marie had taken from the neighbouring empty table.

“You don’t want to go up and order?” asked Warren in what Charles thought was a slightly desperate tone.

“I’m fine,” said Jubilee, waving a hand.

“Well, so am I,” replied Warren.

“Maybe you should consider applying to college,” Jubilee said.

There was a moment of silence.  Charles watched Erik raise his eyebrows and take a large bite of his waffle.

“No,” said Warren, finally.

“Why not?” asked Anna Marie. 

“I don’t want to,” said Warren.  “And, as the great Walter Scott said: ‘the best part of every man’s education is that which he gives to himself’.”

“And how exactly is delivering pizzas aiding you in your self-education?” Erik asked.

Warren scowled.

“Fuck you, Erik,” he said.

“Right back at you,” Erik replied, cheerfully.

“Okay,” said Jubilee, turning to Erik with a fierce expression.  “I have no idea who you are, but shut the fuck up.”  She turned to Warren and her face softened.  “He’s right though.  It doesn’t matter if you go to college or not, but I think it would make you feel better to at least plan for a sustainable future.  Have you considered apprenticeships?”

“I don’t think getting a job is going to make me want to stop killing myself,” Warren said, his voice a semitone higher than usual.

“It’s not about getting a job,” Jubilee said.  “It’s about doing something meaningful or worthwhile with your time.”

“But what if I can’t?” Warren asked, wide-eyed.

“But what if you can?” Jubilee replied.  “Isn’t it worth it to try?”

Warren glanced around the table with a panicked expression.

“I think she’s right,” Charles said, quietly.  “You don’t have to go to college or get a job that you hate, but I think you should at least try to find something that you enjoy doing.”

“But, Charles, my dad—”

“Just because your dad used to want you to go to college or get a job, it doesn’t mean that you can’t do it now,” Charles said.  “You can’t rebel against someone who’s no longer there.”

“Yeah,” said Anna Marie.  “It’s like what Charles said last night.  You might as well try and exhaust every possibility before you, you know…”

“Where would I even work?” Warren asked.  “No one wants to hire a suicidal college dropout.”

“Really?  Because I could probably name you at least six record stores on the North Side,” Erik said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After Jubilee had sternly ordered Warren to “take care of himself” and demanded that the others at the table “made sure that he did”, she took off from the diner to go to her part-time cafe job. 

Erik stared at everyone else at the table conspicuously checking their phones for the time.

“So,” said Warren.  “What do we do now?”

There was a moment of silence.

“I don’t know about any of you,” said Anna Marie, hesitantly.  “But I’m feeling a lot better than I was last night.”

“Me too,” said Warren.  “But how do we know if it’s going to last?”

“Thirty days,” said Erik, suddenly.

“I’m sorry?” Charles asked.

“Apparently, there was an article in the newspaper,” Erik said, rambling self-consciously now.  “You’re supposed to wait thirty days after considering suicide and then things will have changed enough that you will feel better.”

“Are you sure?” Warren asked.

“Totally,” lied Erik.

“I think I can wait that long,” Anna Marie said.

“Me too,” Warren added.

Erik looked over at Charles.

“I think I can do it,” he said with a brief smile.

“Me too,” Erik said slowly, still watching Charles. 

“You can stay at mine for as long as you need,” Charles said.

Erik frowned.  Then, he thought about the biro-scribbled napkin, and nodded.

“Then, it’s settled!” Anna Marie said, chirpily.  “We’ll wait thirty days and then, on January 30th, we’ll meet up again and see if it’s worked.”

Charles blinked.

“That sounds like a good plan,” he said, which meant that they were doing it.

Then, it was just a matter of leaving the diner and consulting Google Maps to make sure that Anna Marie and Warren knew where they were going.

“Do you really think they’re going to last that long?” Erik asked Charles, as they watched Anna Marie and Warren get onto the downtown bus.

“I really do,” said Charles, looking up at Erik.

Erik thought so too, but he had just wanted to hear Charles say it, like that would somehow make it truer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next (and final!!!!!) chapter should come a lot quicker because i've actually written some of that / planned basically the whole thing so have fun & keep updated for that

**Author's Note:**

> [hit me up on tumblr at @transcharlesxavier](http://www.transcharlesxavier.tumblr.com)


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